


The gift

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:04:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5988367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 6 of the Mapmaker Series. A human woman joins the company of Thorin Oakenshield on the quest to Erebor as a mapmaker and finds a lifelong love.</p>
<p>Thorin surprises his betrothed with the gift of a beautiful library.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The gift

“Close your eyes.”

Thorin abruptly stopped at a branch in the corridor, turning to you with this unexpected command.

“Why?” Your brow wrinkled in curiosity.

There was an air of mischief about his smile as he leaned close and murmured, “trust me.”

All day, Thorin had been alluding to a surprise, something he wanted to show you, and as soon as you had finished supper, he’d taken you by the hand and led you through the long halls and vast chambers of Erebor. Your questions and guesses had been met only with mysterious grins and playful lectures on the virtue of patience, until at last you’d laughed and allowed yourself to be carried along by his whim.

With a wondering smile, you obediently closed your eyes and felt his arm go around your waist as he began to guide you down the hallway. After a few moments of only the sound of your footsteps on stone, his hold tightened slightly, bringing you to a halt. He released you, and you heard the faint creak of a door’s hinges before he was at your side once again, this time moving you just a few paces further. There was the cushion of a thick rug beneath your shoes now, and the distinct sound of a crackling fire somewhere nearby.

“Are you ready?” His voice was a deep, soft rumble, close to your ear.

“Yes,” you answered eagerly.

A pause.

“Are you sure?” He was playing at being grave, but you could hear the amusement in his tone.

“Thorin!” you scolded, laughing, and he chuckled, his beard softly brushing your skin as he grazed your cheek with a kiss.

“Open your eyes.”

You were standing in a cozy, welcoming room you had never seen before. The fire you’d heard was blazing merrily in a fireplace surrounded by an ornate mantle embellished with a pattern of inlaid stone of various colors, and the room was illuminated by lanterns hung from its vaulted ceiling, suspended by clever pulleys that would allow them to be raised and lowered. Two comfortable armchairs faced each other in one corner, with a small table between them, and beside the hearth was a wide chaise covered in tufted gray velvet. 

There were so many details of beautiful workmanship to take in, but what you noticed above all were the bookshelves. Nearly all the way around the room, shelves of dark wood lined the walls, as high as you were tall and filled with books. You walked closer to the wall nearest you, gently running your fingers over leather-bound spines, seeing titles of history, poetry, philosophy, folklore, and statecraft.

“It’s wonderful,” you breathed. “How is it that I’ve never been here before?”

“We have been restoring it…as a surprise,” Thorin admitted. “The company took it in turns to keep you out of the way when I was doing my part.”

You chuckled as understanding dawned on you. “Is that why Dwalin suddenly felt a pressing need to tutor me in the use of throwing knives?”

“Indeed,” he affirmed, with an amused grin.

“…And why Bombur insisted I show him how to make my grandmother’s blackberry pie?”

“Ah…no, I believe Bombur just wanted to know how to make your grandmother’s pie.”

With a throaty laugh, you rested your hands on his shoulders, and he wrapped his arms around your waist. Your fingers delved into his hair as your lips found his. “Thank you, my love,” you said. “I couldn’t have imagined a more beautiful library.”

He kissed you once more, delighted. “Think of it as a betrothal gift.”

“But you’ve already given me a betrothal gift,” you protested.

He smiled, with a proud glance at the jeweled combs that adorned your hair, their delicate silver branches bearing tiny oak leaves set with white gemstones that glittered in the lantern light. “Then this is another,” he replied, his hand softly tracing your spine. “I wish for you to have every happiness, amrâlimê,” his voice sank to a tender murmur, “when you are my Queen…my wife.”

“I shall have you for my own beloved husband, and that is every happiness to me.” Your own smile was joyous, though you spoke the words a bit shyly, as if still becoming accustomed to them.

After a kiss to your forehead and a last squeeze of your waist, he gestured with his arms toward the shelves. “What will you read first, my sweet?”

“I am spoiled for choice,” you chuckled, beginning a slow circuit around the room. 

Thorin crossed to the opposite wall and plucked a book of poems from the shelf, leafing through it before going to settle himself on the chaise at the fireside. Meanwhile, you discovered a large volume of ancient maps, your own passion, and eagerly carried it with you to sit beside your love, reclining against his shoulder as you opened the heavy book.

Hours passed in long stretches of companionable silence broken occasionally by Thorin reading you a particularly beautiful poem, his lush voice seeming to carry the words into your very blood, or your speaking up to show him an especially fine illustration or ask about an unfamiliar place. The fire was burnt to embers when he stretched, laying his book aside, and slid down the back of the sofa to lay his head on its cushions, enfolding you in his arms to draw you to rest on his broad chest.

You sighed with contentment, your fingers tracing the embroidered trim of his tunic as his hand played gently in your hair. “This is my favorite place in Erebor,” you whispered. 

He smiled, and murmured, “I am glad you are happy with your library.”

“I meant, in your arms,” you replied, and his chest rumbled beneath your ear with his deep chuckle. You felt his kiss on the crown of your head as you added, “ _and_ I love the library.”

Silence fell again, and you lay staring into the fireplace, feeling your eyelids begin to grow heavy. “It must be late…we should probably go,” you ventured at last.

“Mmm,” Thorin nodded in agreement, though his eyes were closed.

Twice more, you purposed to rouse yourself, to leave, and yet you were so warm and comfortable and happy in Thorin’s embrace that your own lonely bedchamber held no appeal in comparison. You would stay, only a little longer…

* * *

Morning sunlight streamed through the Front Gate of Erebor into the entrance hall as Balin and Dwalin walked quickly toward each other. 

“Any sign of them?” Dwalin asked.

Balin shook his head in the negative, but added, “I’ve had a thought, though…come with me.”

Together, the brothers retraced Thorin’s steps on the previous evening to the door of the new library, where, upon cautiously opening it, their eyes were met by the sight of their King and friend sound asleep on the chaise, clasping your slumbering body close in his arms. Balin exhaled softly with relief, the beginning of a fond smile appearing on his face, and Dwalin rolled his eyes in mild exasperation, muttering low about Thorin playing the lover while they’d been run off their feet looking for him.

“Oh, come, brother,” Balin murmured, looking indulgently at the couple, “he’s earned his happiness.”

Dwalin peeked into the room once more, his expression softening with a small, only slightly begrudging chuckle. “That he has,” he admitted.

Voices approached in the hallway as Fili and Kili appeared with concerned faces, calling, “have you found them?” Their noisy progress was halted by Balin and Dwalin simultaneously shushing them, and they came quietly, craning their necks to see what was happening inside the chamber. Kili’s face wore a schoolboy’s grin as he raised his eyebrows and nudged Fili with his elbow, and his brother returned his glance with a knowing smirk before tactfully turning away from the romantic scene.

It was Dwalin’s gruff whisper that moved everyone along. “All right, lads, let’s be off,” he ordered. “Nothing more to see.”

“But…shouldn’t we wake them?” Kili asked, confusion plain on his face.

Balin moved briskly to close the door again as Dwalin leaned close to the dark-haired prince. “Laddie, your uncle’s waited nearly two hundred years for this one,” he observed, with one last glance into the library. “He can have another hour with her if he likes.”


End file.
